Trust in Me (7 page)

"Claire, your mother and I love you, and we want you to be happy. If you would just come home, we can talk about your grievances. What if I bought you those snow skis we saw in Aspen—"

"No. My mind's made up. I'm staying here. Good night, Daddy. I love you." She hung up before her father could voice another protest. Perhaps he'd never understand or approve. But she was through with trying to please her father. The time had come to please herself.

***

The next morning, after a quick breakfast with Mrs. Proctor, Claire went out to her car, ready to face her second day of learning the difference between caulk and grout. Remembering Kevin's qualms over her attire the day before, she dressed down a bit today. She hoped the white linen skirt and pink cotton blouse struck a balance between chic and what her boss expected her to wear.

She slid behind the wheel of her BMW, but when she turned the ignition key, the engine wouldn't start. Her second and third attempts got similar results. She sat for a moment with her head on the steering wheel, debating what to do first.

She should call Kevin and tell him she'd be late, but she obviously would need a tow truck to take her car into the shop. She wasn't sure that Grayson even had a place that could work on her BMW.

Grumbling epithets to the car, she headed back inside.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Proctor used her cane to poke at a can on a high shelf beyond her reach. The old woman huffed her frustration and muttered invectives similar to those Claire had just used on her car.

"You can say that again." Grinning, Claire stepped up behind Mrs. Proctor and handed down the can of peaches the woman was after.

"Oh." The older woman gave Claire a quick, begrudging smile. "Thank you. I thought you'd left."

"I tried. My car won't start. Do you have a phone book? I need to call a tow truck."

"Phooey." Her landlady waved her off. "Call Kevin. He doesn’t have a phone at home, but he should be at the store by now. He's good with mechanical stuff. He'll get your car started."

"Kevin's got responsibilities at the store. I can't ask him to come bail me out. Besides, I want to handle this myself. I'll call a garage."

Mrs. Proctor gave her a long, dissatisfied glare, before limping over to a kitchen drawer to retrieve the phone book. "You know, you could do a lot worse than Kevin Fuller. You'd be lucky to have a man like him courting you. He's good-hearted and hard-working. He'd make a fine husband."

Claire blinked and mentally adjusted to absorb what the old woman was saying. "Husband? What...I'm not looking for a husband." The memory of Blaine's deceit, and her father's hand in it, sliced through her, opening the freshly scabbed wounds again. "I don't want or need a man in my life right now, thank you. Before I even consider getting married, I want to prove to myself and everyone else that I can make it on my own."

Mrs. Proctor harrumphed and slapped the thin phone book on the kitchen table. "Think you're too good for him, do you?"

"Wh— no! I—"

"Because maybe he's too good for you!" The chilliness Claire had picked up from Mrs. Proctor at their first meeting had returned in spades and left her speechless. The woman's truculence puzzled Claire. What had she done to upset her landlady?

"Kevin is very kind. I agree, but—"

"But nothing. I'd like to shake that little miss that broke his heart a few years back. Stuck up little snob."

Claire frowned. What little miss? She shook her head. Kevin's love life was none of her business.

She opened the phone book and thumbed through the yellow pages in search of a garage with a tow truck.

"Kevin deserves a woman who can see past what he doesn't have and see what he's
got
. That twit of a gal didn't understand that it's what's inside a man that matters," Mrs. Proctor groused. "Kevin's got gold in him. Pure gold." She aimed the tip of her cane at Claire. "You think about that, young lady, before you dismiss him so easy."

Claire stopped at an ad for a gas station that claimed to work on foreign cars then shifted her focus to Mrs. Proctor. She wasn't sure what she'd done to make the woman think she had any intentions one way or another toward Kevin, and Claire found the old lady's continued pursuit of the topic interesting. Humorous. Ridiculous. Kevin was her boss. He was a nice man, sure, but she had no designs on him romantically or otherwise.

If nothing else, her ill-fated relationship with Blaine had taught her to not give her heart to a man who loved her father's money more than he loved her. She'd been blind and naive not to see through Blaine. Thank God she'd seen him for the power-hungry opportunist he was
before
the wedding.

"May I borrow your phone? I need to have my car taken care of and get to work." Claire twisted her lips in frustration. "I'm already going to be late."

"Go on. Call your fancy tow truck. I'm telling you Kevin would have your car running in a snap." Mrs. Proctor snapped her gnarled fingers to echo her assertion.

Claire smiled at her. "I'm sure he would. He's seems pretty good at helping ladies in distress."

Mrs. Proctor gave her a nod of agreement.

"Just the same, a tow truck—"

"Will cost you an arm and a leg."

Taking a deep breath, Claire closed the phone book. She couldn't afford an arm and a leg at the moment. She wouldn't get her first paycheck for a couple weeks, and the pocket money she'd had when she started out was running low. No way would she crawl back to her father for financial assistance. "Maybe I'll just try to start it one more time before I call the garage."

Her landlady arched a gray eyebrow.

Claire marched out to the BMW her father had bought her and faced it with her hands on her hips. "Listen here you overpriced bunch of bolts, either you start this time or I'll..." She'd what? Claire growled her frustration. She couldn't even make effective threats. "Just start, all right?"

She slid into the leather bucket seat and turned the key. The BMW whined and sputtered.

"Please." She tried again, and with a cough the engine caught. Sighing a deep breath of relief, Claire glanced at her watch. She was twenty minutes late already. She wouldn't blame Kevin if he fired her.

Fortunately, the one traffic light in town was green when she reached that intersection, and she made it to the hardware in record time.

She ran into the store, toward the manager's office, and collided with a large woman coming out the door.

The woman caught Claire by the arms to steady her. "Whoa, filly! Where's the fire?"

"I'm late," she panted.

"Late? You must be Claire. Kevin said he'd hired some new help." The chubby woman offered her hand to Claire. "I'm Lydia, fellow cashier and victim of Ray's abuse. Welcome to the circus."

Claire grinned at the other cashier's characterization of the hardware. There'd been times yesterday when Claire had felt like a clown, bumbling through sales of farm equipment and tools she knew nothing about. "Nice to meet you."

Lydia gave her a nod and ambled down the aisles of hardware with a clipboard in her hands.

"Claire?"

She ducked her head into the office when Kevin called to her. "Yes?"

"You're here." Kevin rose from his desk chair and gave her an odd look.

"Uh, yeah. You sound surprised. I am on the schedule today, aren't I?"

Kevin pushed his fingers through his already ruffled hair. Claire imagined it stayed mussed most of the time.

"When you didn't show up at nine, I thought—"

"I know. I'm sorry I'm late. My car wouldn't start."

"Oh." He ducked his head then peered up at her though his tousled bangs. "I could take a look at the engine if you want."

Claire chuckled. "You sound like Mrs. Proctor."

"I do?"

She waved her hand. "Never mind. And thanks, but I got it started finally. But that's why I'm late."

"Oh, sure." He rubbed his hands up on the legs of his faded jeans and sat back down in the desk chair.

She started to turn away then hesitated. "Kevin, what did you think when I was late?"

It was his turn to brush her off. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

She studied him with tension gathering in her chest. "You thought I'd quit, that I'd given up after just one day."

Kevin said nothing, didn't look up. His silence said everything he didn't. His lack of faith in her twisted inside her, tightening the pressure in her lungs.

"You know, this isn't some game to me. I want to make this work. I
have
to make this work." To her horror, her voice cracked.

Kevin raised his gaze then, and his soulful, brown eyes reached inside her with tender warmth.

She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. "I'm not a quitter, Kevin."

"I apologize. I should have never doubted you." The deep, even timbre of his voice vibrated through her. His steady gaze never faltered.

He's got gold in him.

With a shake of her head, Claire forced from her mind the sound of Mrs. Proctor's words and chased from her bones the shivery sensation stirred by Kevin's probing gaze.

Or so she thought. But the image of Kevin's dark eyes lingered in her mind all morning. Through hours of chatter with Lydia, who treated Claire like her new best friend, and a constant stream of customers wanting ratchets and butterfly clamps, Kevin drifted through her mind time and again. And each time her manager crossed her thoughts, her body reacted. The unsettled feeling that spun through her reminded her of the times when, as a child, she'd twirled around and around in pursuit of the dizzy, lightheaded rush that followed.

She was ringing up a farmer's order of fertilizer when Lydia called to her from the manager's office.

"Can you run out back and fetch Kevin? Tell him Mr. Lowery's on the phone for him. Says it's important."

Claire handed the farmer his receipt. "Have a nice day."

"Claire?"

"I'm going. Where is he?"

"Helping Ray unload the truck."

"Sure thing," she called back to Lydia then smiled to herself. Her father would be appalled at the way Lydia hollered her request and more put out with the fact his daughter had shouted back.
Ladies
didn't yell.

Claire pushed through the heavy back door to the loading dock and shielded her eyes from the glare of the bright midday sun. "Kevin?"

She walked toward the open end of the truck where she heard voices and the soft twang of a country radio station.

"Kevin?"

"Yeah?" He emerged from the shadows of the cargo hold of the truck, lugging a large box. Claire's feet faltered, and her breath lodged in her throat.

He wore no shirt, and a sheen of perspiration glistened on his chest and face. Though he couldn't be called muscle-bound, his shoulders rippled with sinew and strength. He had wide shoulders, capable of bearing a heavy load.

Kevin set the box on top of a stack of others waiting on a dolly, then pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his brow. "You need me?"

She tried to speak, but her voice tripped over the vision of his hard chest, sprinkled with dark hair and droplets of sweat. He raked his damp hair back and cocked his head. The sun cast his stubbled cheeks in harsh lines and rugged angles, and her mouth went dry.

"Claire? Did you call me?" With an athletic leap, he swung down from the back of the truck and moved toward her, still mopping sweat from his face and arms.

Once again Mrs. Proctor's rant from that morning flickered through her memory.
Kevin deserves a woman who can see past what he doesn't have and see what he's got.

Well, she was looking at what Kevin
got
, and what he had left her gaping like an idiot. The dizzy rush returned in force, and when the world pitched, she braced herself on the back wall.

"You h-have a phone call."

He nodded. "Thanks."

She drew a slow, shaky breath as she watched him pull his T-shirt back on and tuck the hem into his jeans. Why had she never noticed how well his jeans fit him?

And had she really told herself once that he wasn't especially handsome, thought of him as ordinary?

She'd been wrong.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

Okay, maybe he hadn't been wrong to hire Claire. Despite the distraction she caused
him
, Claire was proving an excellent employee. Over the past several days, she'd captivated Lydia and Lowery's regular customers, and she made heartrendingly earnest efforts to learn the job.

Kevin leaned back in the office chair to peer out the door. Claire stood by the cash register with Lydia and a pile of merchandise.

"So this is electrical tape and this is duck tape. Right?"

Claire waved the two rolls in question.

Lydia chuckled. "Duct with a 't'. Not duck with a quack quack."

A pink flush stained Claire's cheek. "Oh. Gotcha. And these are needle-nose pliers. What are they used for?"

Kevin rocked forward again, grinning, and tried to focus on reconciling the books before Mr. Lowery stopped by that afternoon. No doubt Claire's genteel manners and Southern grace would charm the store owner as well.

"Hey, I've gotta tool for you, Claire. And I'll show you how to use it any time you want."

Hearing Ray's lowbrow remark, Kevin groaned and pushed back from the desk. Ray, the little rain cloud that ruined an otherwise sunny situation. Kevin marched over to the register where Ray had joined the ladies, ready to go to battle again over the teen's language. What else could he do when Ray's father ignored the trouble his son caused?

"When are you gonna grow up, boy?" Lydia fussed.

Ignoring the question, Ray stepped inside the invisible boundary of Claire's personal space. She scowled and backed away until she hit the shelves behind her. "Thanks for the offer, Ray, but I'll let Lydia teach me what I need to know about the merchandise."

Again Ray closed in.

Hackles raised, Kevin stalked forward.

"I ain't talking about merchandise, sugar. I mean what I got in my—"